


I'm a cannonball to a house on fire (And you're slow like Motown soul)

by MsPeppernose



Series: Panties 'verse [4]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Anal Sex, Butt Plugs, Established Relationship, M/M, Panty Kink, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 02:51:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6177244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsPeppernose/pseuds/MsPeppernose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete thinks he can always get what he wants when it comes to Patrick.<br/>Patrick wants to prove to Pete that he can't...which is a lot harder than Patrick expects.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm a cannonball to a house on fire (And you're slow like Motown soul)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TearCatcher](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TearCatcher/gifts).



> Edit: as requested by TearCatcher who wanted Pete wearing panties to an awards show and being a tease to the point that Patrick has to drag him away. This is sort of that.
> 
> Thank you to Immoral Cow for indulging me, fixing my grammar and giving me an ending. She's the best!  
> Title is from The Spirit of Jazz / Gaslight Anthem
> 
> After writing this I feel like I owe Pete some sort of apology, but he can never know why...

Pete often sleeps in Patrick’s bunk, even when Patrick isn't in it. Patrick knows this, so he shouldn’t be surprised when he pulls back his curtain and finds a curled up ball of Pete hogging half of the bunk and most of the covers.

It’s two in the afternoon, and Patrick just wants some quiet time, so instead of snuggling in beside Pete and stealing some of his body heat, his reaction is frustration.

“Dude. I just wanted a nap. Can you move over?”

Pete just mumbles something inaudible, so Patrick has to ask again. When Pete’s response is the same - a sleepy murmur and not moving a single inch - Patrick gets a little frustrated. “Pete. Seriously. Move over or go back to your own bunk. I’m tired. I need a nap. It’s been a long fucking day already in this long fucking tour-“  
“Jeez,” Pete snaps. “You got your undies all in a twist. Come here and I’ll cuddle you.”  
Patrick has to bite his tongue because even if Pete has his own bunk that he can sleep in, and even if Patrick would prefer some solitude to Octopus Wentz and his wandering hands right now, maybe some snuggling will lift his mood.

Pete moves so that Patrick can climb in, and it’s a tight fit despite both of them being little dudes, but it always is; bunks are not quite built for two people.

There’s a fair amount of wiggling and shifting from both of them until they find the right position where they’re both comfortable, but when they do, Patrick feels himself begin to relax.

Pete’s head tucks in against Patrick’s shoulder, his arm wraps tight around Patrick’s waist like he can’t stand to let go, and he’s got a goofy smile on his face. Patrick’s smile is growing too because a shared nap is usually nicer that a solo one, and Pete’s like a big, cosy hot water bottle against any chill that blows through the bus.

Patrick’s close to drifting off, close to grabbing that power-nap that he really needs when Pete shifts a little and suddenly Patrick feels Pete’s hard-on pushing against his hip.

“Dude. Really?”  
“Sorry,” Pete says, obviously aware that’s what Patrick’s taking about. “Can’t help it though.” Pete’s hand runs down Patrick’s side to his hip and then his thigh, and he pushes his boner against Patrick’s hip again.  
“You’re not actually sorry, are you?”  
“Not really,” Pete drawls. “Wanna fool around?”  
“I wanted a nap,” Patrick says. And he really, really did, even when he crawled into bed beside Pete. “And we’re on the bus.”  
“No one’s here,” Pete coos. He’s shifted his body again so that he can mouth softly at Patrick’s neck. It feels really nice, and it’s starting to get harder to say no to a possible afternoon orgasm. Patrick does want an orgasm, of course, but he’s exhausted, they have a show tonight and an awards show to attend tomorrow night and limited time to catch up on his rest.

“Andy’s here.”  
“He’s not. He told me he wouldn’t be back until soundcheck.” Pete’s hands wander more and more, and he rubs himself against Patrick a couple more times. “C’mon. Please? M’horny.”  
“Yeah, I got that.”  
“Please? I’ll blow you? You don’t have to do anything. Just lie back and enjoy.”

That’s an invitation that’s very hard to say no to, so despite Patrick’s exhaustion, he nods, and Pete just grins and slides down under the covers. He wastes no time in getting Patrick’s dick out, and yeah, Patrick doesn’t have to do any work at all. Pete’s mouth is tight heat, so gorgeous and perfect, that Patrick doesn’t take long to come, his fingers grasping at Pete’s hair.

When Pete emerges, he looks debauched, his lips all swollen and red, his eyes so dark, and Patrick still doesn’t have to do any work. Pete’s hand is already down his sweats furiously jerking himself off. He comes with his head pressed into Patrick’s neck.

Afterwards, Pete tucks himself back into his original place, and Patrick’s afterglow makes him even more sleepy even if there’s probably no longer time for a decent nap

“Mmm,” Pete hums into Patrick’s skin. “I love that I can always make you give in and let me blow you.”  
“Not always,” Patrick almost snaps. Almost. He’s not mad at Pete; they just had a really fucking nice time, but Patrick knows that Pete likes to get what he wants. Even when Pete sells it as something that’s beneficial for them both, Patrick can usually tell when it’s something _Pete_ wants. Patrick generally feels like a sucker when he figures it out, and now he’s going to be an exhausted sucker that will give a sub-par performance to those kids tonight who deserve to see the band in peak form.

“Mostly.” Pete grins like he’s won the game, even if this wasn’t a game to begin with, and Patrick’s mood takes a turn for the worse.

“Dude, you can’t have everything you want, you know.”  
“Not _everything_ , but I’m good at persuading you, right? Bet I could seduce you whenever,” Pete says offhandedly, and that’s it for Patrick and his sleep deprived nerves.  
“Yeah, well we’ll see about that,” Patrick says.  
“Don’t be mad Pattycakes.”  
“I’m not mad,” he snaps. “Just. Don’t act like you can always have what you want.”  
“I can,” Pete says sleepily. The asshole is going to end up falling asleep again before soundcheck when it’s Patrick that actually needs it.  
“You can’t. I’ll fucking prove it to you if I have to.”

That gets Pete’s attention. He sits up and looks right down into Patrick’s eyes. “You gonna hold out on me?”

“Maybe I will,” Patrick says, too tired to think of anything else to say. He expects Pete to complain, protest, give Patrick fifteen reasons why that’s a terrible idea, but instead he just arches a heavy eyebrow and says, “Okay. Do what you have to do, Pattycakes.”

Patrick really is tired, so it takes it a while for that sentence to sink in, to worm it’s way under Patrick’s skin and twist itself. But when Patrick does connect the dots, he comes to realise that Pete’s _Okay_ is not acceptance, but a challenge.

*

When Patrick finds Pete in his bunk after the show just wearing his tiniest, tightest boxers, his suspicions are confirmed. Patrick is nothing if he’s not a stubborn bastard, so he just snuggles in for a night of cuddling next to his big dumb hot water bottle.

They’ve slept together a hundred times without fucking or rubbing off on each other, so it’s no big deal. Or it shouldn’t be. Pete doesn’t try anything, doesn’t let his hands slide under Patrick’s shirt, doesn’t attempt to hump Patrick’s leg. It’s very platonic.  
The thing that’s different is their interaction the next morning. Patrick wakes late, and he’s sticky with sweat from a deep sleep and an overheating body beside him. Pete rolls over to greet him when he hears Patrick moving about in the bed, and when Pete’s morningwood brushes Patrick’s thigh the reaction is not the usual one.

Instead of a sly grin or a _pleasepleaseplease,_ Pete lets his boner linger there for just a second and then shifts himself away. “Sorry. I didn’t mean-- I’ll just go take care of that,” he says, and then he’s gone, agile enough to climb out of the bunk over Patrick without touching off of him again.

That must mean that Pete is actually being respectful of Patrick’s boundaries, and Patrick’s beginning to feel smug when he hears the very familiar little murmurs and hitches or breath that can only be sex noises.

Sure enough, Pete, the inconsiderate bastard, is jacking off in the spare bunk below Patrick’s. He sounds like he’s at least half-trying to stay quiet, but then that might be because Andy’s likely to bench press him if he masturbates at full volume in a shared space.

Pete finishes sounding like he’s chewing on his own arm, and then crawls back into Patrick’s bunk smelling of spunk and sleep and when he cuddles into Patrick for a morning snuggle, Patrick’s both furious and ridiculously turned on.

*

It’s just Patrick and Pete attending this awards show. Usually it would be the four of them, but it should still be fine with half the band. They don’t have to play or present an award so the pressure is off them, but they still have to show their faces. It’s also nice to be out with just Pete, and it almost feels like a date even if no one else knows it is, and they don’t actually get to act like it is a date.

There’ll still be lots of press that they’ll have to walk through, still a hundred pictures they’ll have to pose for, still a ton of repetitive questions that they’ll have to answer. But Patrick’s looking forward to it despite his latent tiredness because it means they might get to meet some cool people, let their collective hair down a little, and they’ve a break from the tour bus for the night because they have a plush hotel to crash in afterwards.

Patrick feels a little twinge of something when he thinks about their hotel night. He and Pete still have separate hotel rooms - at some point they decided that paying for two rooms was easier than explaining to their agent and tour managers why they wanted one and dealing with the potential follow-up freak-out - but they usually end up sharing a bed. Hotel beds are big and wide and made for spread-out sex. No one can hear them in a hotel, and even if they did, no one would care.

But Patrick has stupidly put his foot down and said no shenanigans, so a hotel night feels almost like a waste. There’ll be no potential shared sexy shower, no loud orgasms, no hotel sex at all. They can still share a bed of course, but Patrick’s half regretting choosing a hotel night after a glamorous, champagne soaked evening as the night to try to teach Pete a lesson.

Patrick gets ready in his own hotel room, though he doesn’t have that long of a ritual beyond a shower, shave, brief attempt to style his hair and then fresh, clean clothes. He’s just finished dressing when he gets a text from Pete to go collect him from his hotel room.  
Patrick knocks on Pete’s door and waits.

“Patrick?”  
“Yeah, Pete. It’s me.”  
“Just let yourself in.”

Patrick does, sliding Pete’s spare keycard into the lock and stepping inside the room. He’s still closing the door when he catches sight of Pete lying on the bed. Patrick can’t help the way his gaze travels up Pete’s body from his feet to his thighs, to the bass guitar on his lap, to the curious expression on his face, to the fact that Pete is butt-naked with only his bass to hide his modesty.

Patrick’s eyebrows head for his hairline and he bites his lip trying to think of _words_ because Pete looks good enough to eat - or blow - and Patrick’s fully aware that Pete is displaying himself like this on purpose. Patrick just needs to make sure he doesn’t _rise_ to the occasion.

Pete lounging around naked is not at all unusual. Even before he and Patrick started hooking up, Patrick had seen Pete’s dick more times than he could ever count. And since they’ve started whatever it is that they have going together, Pete’s even more free with his nudity in Patrick’s presence. Patrick has learned to like it when it’s just them together, it’s part of Pete’s personality. It’s also just a body, and a really nice one at that, but Patrick knows the reason behind today’s nakedness is more than just laziness or exhibitionism.

“Hey, Trick. What’s up?” Pete’s grin is lazy as he greets Patrick, so normal. Pete’s ability to be so comfortably, casually naked is unparalleled as far as Patrick has experienced. The tiny smirk that Pete’s trying to cover up today is because he’s sure he has one over on Patrick, sure that he’s going to get what he wants.

“You said in your text you’re nearly ready to go?” Patrick says and he thinks he keeps his voice sounding fairly normal. He’s determined to ignore such a blatant attempt to rile him up.  
“I am. Just gotta get dressed.” He picks out a series of bass chords while Patrick takes a seat at the end of the bed. “I was playing around with the bassline of that song you played for me? That new one? Is this how it goes?”  
“Close, but the end is different?”  
“Different how?”

The easiest way to show Pete is obviously to take the bass and play it for him, because describing music is fucking useless. But obviously then there will be nothing covering Pete…which Patrick assumes is Pete’s plan. So Patrick hums the tune, and Pete just listens and watches Patrick with that tiny smirk on his face. When Patrick finishes, Pete simply hands him the bass anyway and walks naked to the bathroom without a backward glance.

“Just gimme, like, ten minutes to get dressed and we can go,” Pete calls from the bathroom. Patrick hears him potter around a bit, water running, the toilet flushing, and then Pete emerges. And motherfuck does he look good.

He’s not dressed yet of course, his clothes for the evening are folded neatly on a chair in the bedroom, but Pete’s now wearing underwear - pink, lacy, figure-hugging, _gorgeous_ underwear. They fit him perfectly, clinging to every curve of his athletic body, and when he stops at the mirror and turns to fix his hair, there’s a huge hole built into the back, meaning there’s ample ass-cleavage on show.

Patrick’s been learning about panties since Pete got into them - both literally and figuratively - so he knows enough to know that they’re keyhole panties. They’re incredibly beautiful and probably count as lingerie rather than plain old underwear, and all Patrick can do is stare at Pete’s ass crack, despite himself.

“New underwear?” Patrick asks casually, knowing he’s falling right into a very carefully set Wentz-trap.  
“You like ‘em? I’ve had them a while. Been saving ‘em for a special occasion. Today is pretty special, right?” The emphasis is not lost on Patrick when Pete turns to him and smirks. “An awards show feels special.”  
“Sure.” Pete’s still made no further move to dress himself, still poking at a few strands of his hair in the mirror, still happy to flaunt himself, so Patrick just says, “We should get a move on.”  
“Right, right.”

Pete’s outfit for the awards show are really skinny waxed jeans like he wears on stage, and a very smart crisp white dress shirt with a slim black tie. He has a blazer too, by some ridiculously expensive designer that Patrick’s never heard of, but he looks damn good. Patrick knows he’ll well up with pride when every journalist tells Pete he looks great tonight.

When Pete’s dressed, he stands in front of Patrick and kisses him lightly. “You look really good by the way, Stump. I didn’t tell you when you came in, but you do.”  
“You too.”  
“Thanks, but you look seriously delicious. And I know you said that we’re having a little break from sleeping together because I was a cocky asshole, but if we weren’t taking a break from that, I’d have a long list of things that that leather jacket makes me think of.”  
“Like what?” Patrick can’t help but ask.  
“Like how it makes your skin look soft like butter next to it. Like how it always makes you look hot as hell.” Patrick swallows. He’s an idiot for asking Pete to elaborate and he knows it. Pete’s standing flush against Patrick now, arms around his waist and staring at Patrick’s mouth as he speaks. “Like how it makes me think of dropping to me knees for you.” Yeah, Patrick’s an idiot for asking. “But I know we’re not doing anything like that for a bit, and that’s cool,” he says so nonchalantly. Then he gives Patrick a nip of a kiss behind his ear and pulls back.

Pete disappears into the bathroom again briefly, and Patrick take it as an opportunity to mentally shake himself out and forget all the gorgeous imagery that Pete so happily presented him with. He has to remind himself that he’s so good at falling for Pete’s ways, even if he never really has a problem with doing so.

Pete comes out of the bathroom and reaches his hand out for Patrick to take. “Come on. We’ll be late,” he says. Patrick takes it even if he’ll have to drop it again when they get out into the hallway, using it as a last moment of solitude before the craziness of the night begins.

*

Pete uses any feeble excuse to touch Patrick throughout their night out, though that’s not a new thing; he’s been doing that since they first met. Pete’s hand touches Patrick’s arm, Pete drapes his arm loosely around Patrick’s back for a photograph on the red carpet, Pete gets Patrick into a playful mock-headlock during an interview question back stage.

Even when they’re just sitting together, Pete’s knee is practically glued to Patrick’s. It’s such a subtle gesture, and something that they often do so that they can touch in public without anyone knowing. Usually Patrick loves it.

All of the touching is pretty standard fare for an evening with Pete, and yet because Patrick’s stubbornness walked him into all of this, because he knows that there won’t be any relief for the sexual tension he feels other than his own right hand, every touch is heightened. It fucking stinks, and it’s making Patrick feel on edge.

They’re backstage, and even if there’s tons of people around, they manage to catch a few minutes alone in the deserted men’s room.

“I think these pants are too tight,” Pete says.  
“All your pants are too tight. You can almost count your pubic hairs through some of them,” Patrick deadpans, though Pete’s pants are deliciously tight and Patrick’s not complaining.

Pete laughs. “Dude, they’re not usually that bad. But, look! These ones are almost cutting into my hips. I bet my underwear’s leaving a mark on my skin.”

With that, he pulls at his pants a little and peels away the denim from his hip. Patrick can see both the waistband of the panties and the honeyed skin beneath it.

"Is there a mark there?"  
“I don’t see one,” Patrick says, though he makes sure not to go up close to check. Pete holds Patrick’s gaze in the mirror for about three seconds too long and then fixes his pants back the way they were, thankfully covering everything up again. Patrick can now resume his delusional thoughts that Pete’s wearing huge, disgusting, old-man underpants and not gorgeous lacy things; it’s easier if he can’t see the reality.

They’re watching artist after artist collect their awards, applauding when appropriate, standing when necessary, and Patrick’s sure that when he reads the reviews tomorrow, everyone will say what an amazing show it was. But he’s too distracted to be able to enjoy it properly. All he can think of are the tiny firebolts that hit his body every time Pete touches him, and how he only has himself to blame.

The next time they’re alone, in a deserted corridor backstage - even if they shouldn’t actually be backstage considering they’re not playing - Pete repeats his little performance.

“Is there a mark now? They’re kinda chaffing.”  
With the briefest of glances, Patrick says, “No, it looks fine.”  
“Maybe I should take them off?”  
“Your pants?” Patrick asks, because that’s ridiculous even for Pete.  
“No, my underwear. Should I just go commando?” He squirms a little as if to demonstrate his apparent discomfort and something flips inside Patrick.

Patrick’s been patient so far, understanding even. He knows Pete well enough to know that this behaviour is all him acting out, and Patrick knows himself well enough to know that he’s better than falling for it. The anger that starts to rise inside him is only marginally directed at Pete, the rest at himself, but he goes from patient to pissed so fast his head spins a little.

“Jesus, Pete. What’s wrong with you?” He has to lower his voice now because there’s some people around at the far end of the corridor, and he has to remind himself not to let it out like an angry hiss.  
“Wait, what?” Pete says, and he must think he’s playing dumb but Patrick knows Pete too well. Though this is Pete, so maybe he’s actually confused that his actions have consequences.  
“You’re telling me you want to go commando at an awards show? To carry your lacy underwear around in your pocket all night, or just toss them in the trash when so many people are around. Are you kidding me?”  
“No, I just thought-“  
“You been acting like a bratty little shit all night. Such a fucking cocktease. What did you think would happen if you spent all night touching me and showing me your underwear like a slut?”  
“I-“  
“You thought I’d ignore it?”  
“No. I just-“ Pete looks uncomfortable, wide-eyed. Maybe he really didn’t think this would be Patrick’s reaction, but the dark in Pete’s eyes that Patrick is sure is _lust_ tells him otherwise.  
“I’m so fucking mad at you.”  
“Mad like I should stop and leave you be for the night?” Pete asks cautiously.  
“Mad like I can’t stop thinking about you in those panties,” Patrick says, and he’s so impressed with himself for saying that under his breath with such a straight face. They’re in public and anyone could hear them. “So mad.”  
“I didn’t think-“  
Patrick doesn’t let Pete finish whatever it is that he’s about to say. “You knew exactly what you were doing, Pete.”  
“I just thought you’d give in and let me blow you.”  
“It’s too late for that. We need to go.”  
“Go?”  
“Yeah, back to the hotel. Text Charlie and say we need the car. I’m not going to any fucking after party.”

Patrick’s all flustered by the time they’re getting out of the car. The amount of conscious effort it takes not to touch Pete, not to crawl into his lap or give him a handjob in the back seat, is unreal. Patrick’s not usually that kind of guy though, even if he sometimes thinks about it. He has bigger plans than a quickie tonight.

He’s wound tight like a top when they get inside Pete's hotel room, and he gets that spinning release when he finally gets his mouth on Pete's after so much waiting and _longing_. He pushes Pete flat against the wall and crowds in close so that their bodies are right against each other.

Pete sighs into Patrick's mouth like he's found the same sense of relief, and it's a comfort for Patrick. Even if he feels like such a fool for falling into Pete's trap, for giving in so easily and after just one evening at the mercy of Pete Wentz's seduction techniques, they're in it together; a pair of fools.

Any negative thoughts Patrick has are far outweighed by the gorgeous feeling of Pete getting hard in his jeans. They're only kissing so far - even if they’re searing hot kisses - and though Patrick's getting hard too, Pete has been the one to throw around the innuendo and flirting and threats of going commando. Patrick has to touch him through those stupidly tight waxed jeans. He shapes his hand around Pete's dick and squeezes just hard enough for Pete to moan into their kiss.

When Pete hitches his leg up to Patrick’s waist, it pulls them closer together still, creating delicious friction. Patrick squeezes Pete’s ass, and he’s reminded that Pete is currently clad not only in the tight jeans but also the _panties_ , those hot as hell panties. He needs to see them again, to get his hands on them.

They get their clothes off pretty quickly, and Patrick’s sure his nice new shirt loses a few buttons due to Pete’s enthusiasm, but he couldn’t care less. He grabs at Pete’s body as more skin appears, so eager to touch him, so eager to make him feel good even if he’s still got anger coiling in his veins. When they’re down to their underwear, Pete’s big, warm hands spread over Patrick’s body, touching every surface so reverently that Patrick almost forgets that this began as frantic kissing and that he wants to continue it as frantic fucking and not careful, sweet love-making.

Pete pushes Patrick down onto the bed and climbs over him, still kissing fervently. Patrick can’t stop touching Pete after an evening of being wound up and turned on. He paws at Pete’s hard thighs, his flat abs and stupid V-line, the ink on his body that moves with him; he’s unfairly hot and Patrick’s so fucking turned on.

He runs his hands over the lace of Pete's panties, and they really are beautiful. The lace is very detailed; a hundred little roses, melted together and wrapping over Pete's golden skin. Patrick trails his fingers around to Pete's ass. The contrast of lace and soft, hot skin where the keyhole exposes Pete is dizzying. Patrick wants to fuck Pete; a blowjob would be wonderful of course, but there's an intimacy of being inside Pete that Patrick can never get enough of.

He slips his finger between Pete's cheeks and moves it down, down towards Pete's hole. Instead of Pete's asshole and that tight ring of muscle he’s expecting, Patrick's touching something else.

"A fucking butt plug? Are you goddamn kidding me? When? I saw you naked!" He spits the questions pushing Pete half off him, and he must sound like he's accusing Pete of something really awful rather than something so utterly hot, but he's overwhelmed.  
“It’s just a little one,” Pete says in protest, as if that makes any difference.  
“When?” Patrick demands again.  
"Right before we left the hotel room."

Yes, Patrick can remember the few moments that Pete was in the bathroom, the moments that Patrick used to steady himself. Never in a million years would Patrick have suspected that Pete would be inserting a butt plug in those few minutes, and if he’d been told he would have laughed at how ridiculous it sounds.

It certainly doesn't sound ridiculous now, it sounds hot as hell, and Patrick slips his fingers down to touch the vinyl stopper again. The thought that Pete has had it in all night when no one knew, the thought that Pete's been so open all night is a hot enough thought to linger. Patrick moans and kisses Pete hard again, rolling them over so that he’s on top, their teeth bumping in Patrick's haste to get as much of Pete's mouth as his can.

"Jesus, Pete," he says between kisses.  
“Sorry,” Pete says and Patrick wants to laugh.  
“You shouldn’t be sorry, but god, you need to give a guy some warning.”  
“It was supposed to be a surprise.”  
“It is.” Patrick’s hands are back on Pete’s lace clad hips, and he kisses Pete’s neck, his collarbone, and Patrick remembers something so he has to pull back again. “If your plan was just to blow me, what the fuck do you need a butt plug for?”  
“A back up plan to entice you further?” Pete shrugs like he’s not actually sure himself, and then he adds, “And it felt so fucking good all evening.”  
“I’ll bet,” Patrick says, and then goes right back to burying his face in Pete’s neck.

They’re both pretty far gone by the time they’ve rolled around the bed, kissing, touching. Patrick’s so hard and every time he presses against Pete’s hard-on he sees stars. Patrick wants more, wants to push Pete further, feel him as hot from the inside as he feels on the outside.

He gets Pete to roll over and eases him up into a doggy-style position. From here he’ll be able to shake Pete completely apart.

He slips his own underwear off and moves Pete’s panties to the side, giving him enough for proper access. They’ve fucked dozens of times now with Pete still wearing his panties, though sometimes they’re not built for that and just get in the way. And as much as he really enjoys Pete naked beneath him, there’s something about seeing his lace-covered ass that heats Patrick up, too.

Patrick gently pulls out the plug, and the only place to put it is on the sheets at the end of the bed. He knows he’ll feel guilty about not putting a towel down when the maid service has to clean up their ass-smeared sheets later, but right now who even gives a fuck?

Pete’s ass looks goddamn amazing, so open and inviting and he can’t resist placing a wet kiss right on the cusp of it, just enough to make Pete’s hips stutter.

“Come on,” Pete says. He’s not quite desperate yet, but he sounds impatient.  
“Wait,” Patrick says and pats him on the hip. “Just be patient. I had to wait all evening, ignoring all your acting out, pretending I wasn’t thinking about fucking you. So you can wait a minute or too.”

Pete just whines in reply, and Patrick smiles to himself.

Patrick takes his time to kiss down Pete’s back, lick over the thorny heart and ugly eco symbol. When he’s good and ready - and after he’s ignored a half dozen complaints from Pete to _hurry up!_ \- Patrick pulls back to rubber-up and slick himself with lube.

Pete’s still on all-fours, such a gorgeous position, and Patrick pushes him forwards another inch or so, and then slides right inside. Though Pete's open enough to accommodate Patrick without any prep from wearing the plug, his hole is still deliciously tight around Patrick. Patrick cries out at the gorgeous pressure, and again when Pete bears down, pushes back against Patrick's dick.

Patrick takes hold of Pete by the hips, curling his hands around the curve of them, feeling the lace under his fingers. And then he starts to move.

"Don't hold back, Patrick."  
"I don't intend to," Patrick grits out, and he doesn't. He goes slowly to begin with, pushes so deep inside, deep enough to draw some delicious sounds from Pete. After a couple of slow, deep thrusts, he picks up his pace and goes hard, slamming into Pete's ass, fast and relentless. 

“You were a little shit tonight. Want to fuck you hard.”  
“Yeah. Yeah, come on,” Pete whines.  
“Trying to turn me on in front of all those people. Jesus, Pete. Trying to show me your fucking underwear.”  
“Couldn’t stop myself. Fuck, Patrick.”  
“Such a brat. So hot, but such a goddamn brat.”

He smooths his hand down Pete’s spine, the usually soft skin now sweat-slick to the touch. Patrick’s skin tingles everywhere he’s touching Pete, and every time he bottoms out he has to bite his lip to stop from growling. He wants to keep his own volume down so that he won’t miss out on the wondrous noises Pete is making. 

He curls his hand around Pete’s hip and squeezes, maybe a little too hard, and then he squeezes harder again when he remembers Pete likes it that way. The moan that comes from Pete’s mouth ricochets around in Patrick’s brain and he starts to lose his mind.

Pete leans down, goes from hands and knees to resting his head on his forearms, moaning steadily into the bedcovers. It changes the angle, and not only does Patrick end up thrusting deeper, but he’s now hitting Pete’s prostate over and over. Pete’s falling apart, crumbling into a babbling mess and Patrick loves it. After all of Pete’s flaunting and acting out, to see him so strung out and still trying to be well behaved and compliant is a fucking revelation.

Patrick can’t stand it. He can’t take any more, and he comes hard enough to white out for a second. While his orgasm is coursing through him, his hand stops on Pete’s dick, but as soon as Patrick has recovered enough motor functions to move again, he gets right back to jerking Pete off fast and tight and then Pete’s coming too.

Patrick pats Pete on the hip as he pulls out - a signal to move - but Pete stays where is on his hands and knees trying to catch his breath, so Patrick flops down beside him. Pete does move after a second, he just leans down to kiss Patrick again and again, finally lying down half on top of him.

“I have to get rid of the condom,” Patrick murmurs, though the thought of moving is so very unappealing. Pete feels so good in his arms, and despite the fact that his heart is still hammering in his chest, Patrick feels calm. When he gathers the energy to move he has to slide out from under Pete to toss the rubber into the trash.

Patrick gut reaction after sex is always, always to put some clothes back on. He’s gotten more comfortable in his skin over the years, but he’s still happier when he’s even a little bit covered up. Pete has other plans though, because when Patrick reaches for his underwear, Pete moans a complaint into the pillow.

“No! Stay naked with me a little longer. Please?”  
“You’re not naked. You’ve underwear on.”  
“Whatever. Just stay with me?”

That’s very hard to say no to, especially when Pete’s reaching his hand out for Patrick to take. Patrick lets himself be pulled back down and they climb under the covers where it’s unlikely they’ll emerge from until morning. Pete curls his hand around Patrick’s bare hip and clings on like the human limpet that he is. Patrick’s grateful for every minute of it.

“I thought you’d be acting a lot more smug, Pete. You got what you wanted.” It comes out more serious than Patrick intends it, it’s only supposed to be a tease. He has no intention of starting up any bad feeling between them, so he places a little kiss on Pete’s forehead to soothe the potential sting of the words.

“I didn’t,” Pete says, though there’s a happy warmth in his voice that says he knows he sort of won anyway. “I wanted to blow you.”  
“Same difference. I gave in. Though I would have conceded anyway. Strangely enough I do enjoy sleeping with you.” It’s a joke. Of course Patrick’s into it, so into it he’s let his guard down and done things with Pete he never knew he wanted before.

“I really did just think you’d give in and let me blow you.”  
“I believe you,” Patrick says, and he kind of does. Considering how turned on Pete was, how desperate he sounded, he certainly wasn’t in control of the situation.  
“I just really like going down on you. It’s so hot. I like knowing I’m making you come. I get off on that big time.”  
“So you weren’t just trying to turn me on?”  
“Oh, I totally was. I just didn’t think it would work so well. I thought you’d see right through me and in a week finally let me blow you.”  
“A week is a long time.”  
“Yeah.” Pete squirms a little looking uncomfortable under Patrick’s gaze. “But it took years of my flirting for us to get together in the first place so I was sure you could hold out a really long time this time.”  
“It took me years to _believe_ you were flirting with me, that you wanted me,” Patrick confesses.  
“You believe it now, right?”

Patrick takes a long minute to answer, not because he needs time to consider his answer, but because he’s wrapped up in the beat of Pete’s finger as it swipes back and forth over his hip. “Yeah. Things are different now.” He lets the silence settle comfortably between them for a while before he says,” So, do you get that you can’t have everything you want?” And he’s still not trying to antagonise Pete, but seeing as they’re both so calm and happy, maybe it’s a good time to subtly remind Pete not to get so cocky again.

“I get it. I mean, I know I can’t literally have everything I want, but I already feel like I got everything I wanted anyway. I still can’t always get my head around the fact that you hang out with an asshole like me.”

The sincerity in Pete’s voice slices right into Patrick and out the other side. It’s genuine honesty, lightyears away from the cockiness and smart-ass antics that he’s so good at. 

“Maybe I’m happy to be hanging out with an asshole like you. Maybe I kind of love you, you idiot.”  
“Then maybe you’re the idiot,” Pete says quietly.  
“I’m fucking serious,” Patrick says, knowing that Pete’s so very good at self-depreciation, and that sometimes he needs a kick in the ass over it.  
“So am I!” Pete protests.

Despite how relaxed and sated Patrick feels, that anger flares inside again, but it’s just a tiny ember this time, and it’s for entirely different reasons. “You’re going to have to accept that you’re stuck with me, okay? You don’t need to play these games and push me so far that I snap.”  
“You like that I push you, though. I know you do.” Pete’s pushed Patrick in creative, personal and emotional ways, and he’s been doing it since way back when. Pete pushes him in different ways now that they’re fucking, now that they’re _together_ in whatever form they are. And it’s true, Patrick likes it.

“Yeah, I guess I do. But don’t be a dick about it, okay?”  
“Mmm, dick,” Pete murmurs, giggling at the end. It’s broken their serious mood, but it seems fitting.  
“Shut the fuck up,” is all Patrick says as Pete’s arm curls tight around him.


End file.
